


A Little Bit of Sweetness

by CitrusVanille



Series: I Do Confess, It's The Mess That Feels So Right [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Evil, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Neville, Kissing, M/M, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: Harry’s slogging through his History of Magic homework when the classroom door creaks open and Neville slips in, holding a handkerchief wrapped carefully around one hand.





	A Little Bit of Sweetness

Harry’s slogging through his History of Magic homework when the classroom door creaks open and Neville slips in, holding a handkerchief wrapped carefully around one hand. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see Harry sitting at the semi-dusty professor’s desk, parchment unrolled in front of him, a little bowl of Murtlap essence carefully set off to one side. They hadn’t discussed it, or anything, but they’ve run into each other every night this week after Neville’s detentions, and if Harry had pulled him into the same disused classroom to soak his hand, well, it’s not like Neville’s complaining.

“You don’t have to do this,” Neville tells him, but he’s already shut the door and moved across the floor to stand by the desk.

“I think you’ll find Binns disagrees,” Harry says, dry as he can manage.

Neville rolls his eyes. “I meant the Murtlap,” he says, gestures unnecessarily with his injured hand, and winces, which serves him right. “I could have asked Hermione to do it.”

Harry scowls. “So why’d you come bother me in here?” he snarks. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“What if I said yes?” Neville asks, a little defiant, chin jutted forward a little bit like when he’s facing down bullies. It’s a good look for him, not that Harry would ever say as much.

Carefully so as not to dislodge either parchment or bowl, Harry pushes back his chair and stands, steps sideways around the desk so he’s right in Neville’s space. Neville doesn’t move, lets him drag his fingers deliberately down his arm and take the injured hand in both of his. Harry unwraps the handkerchief slowly. _I must not tell lies_ stares redly back at him, and Harry feels his teeth clench, has to work to keep his touch light.

“What a bitch.” It comes out as a snarl, and Neville jerks a little – startled, maybe – but doesn’t pull away, and Harry presses a kiss to Neville’s knuckles, then turns his hand over to press another to his palm.

Neville’s fingers curl in just a little, brush Harry’s cheek, and Harry looks up at him again, leans in and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

He’s not trying to start anything, not this time, just feels a little defiant himself, at Neville for the dare, for being stupid enough to try to stand up to Umbridge, at Umbridge herself for being a nasty toad, at Granger, unreasonably, just because Neville brought her up, even if he’s here.

It’s Neville who deepens the kiss, steps more fully into Harry’s body, injured hand cupped around Harry’s jaw, other hand sliding around his hip inside his robe to pull him closer.

For several long moments, Harry falls into it, the heat of Neville’s mouth against his own, the feel of fingers sliding from his hip to the small of his back and lower.

Neville makes a soft noise against Harry’s lips, tightens his hold on the curve of Harry’s ass, and for half a second, Harry goes with it, presses in closer, and then firmly steps away, disentangling himself from Neville’s hold.

“What?” Neville’s eyes are wide and dark, and he reaches out to pull Harry back like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Your hand,” Harry says, has to clear his throat and try to manage his own breathing for a moment, has half a mind to step back in, but. “You should soak your hand. It helps more if you do it right away.”

“My –” Neville looks down, as if he’s forgotten, and Harry can’t help but feel a little smug at that. “Right,” Neville nods, looks up and nods again.

“Right,” Harry echoes, steps back a little further, then turns to sit at the desk again. He looks determinedly down at his essay.

There’s the rustle of cloth as Neville moves, the scrape of the chair he drags over, then a soft _plop_ and sigh as he immerses his hand.

There’s silence for a while, broken only by the scritch of Harry’s pen on parchment.

“Thanks for this,” Neville says eventually, voice quiet, but steady.

Harry glances up to find Neville watching him intently. He shrugs. “Don’t fuss about it, Longbottom,” he says, trying for flippant, not sure if he quite hits it. “Just stop getting detention.”

Neville snorts. “Not like I was trying for it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“My goal in life,” Neville tells him, sarcastic tone betrayed by the quirk of his lips.

Harry rolls his eyes again. “Goal achieved, then.”

Neville huffs a laugh. “Really though,” he says, tone serious again. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in Neville’s expression is a little too much. “I need to finish this,” Harry says instead of anything else, turns back to his homework.

There’s another sigh from Neville, one that Harry can’t quite place, but he doesn’t press it, and they lapse back into silence.


End file.
